I Am the Masterpiece
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: The Lovegood Gallery once housed a variety of art. Now, a nostalgic Xeno is stuck only on the abstract. Can Luna convince her father to be more flexible and, maybe, give a young artist a chance?:: DeanLuna Muggle!AU


"Isn't it lovely?" her father asks, pulling the sheet away to reveal an eyesore of a brass sculpture, gnarled and twisted into a strange, meaningless shape.

Luna bites her lip, trying to find the kindest way to say no. "It's..."

"It's called Wrackspurts in Winter," he continues proudly, as though a strange title for a strange piece will make it acceptable somehow.

With a sigh, Luna nods.

Once, the Lovegood Gallery had boasted a wide selection of styles. After Luna's mother, an abstract artist, passed away three years prior, Xeno had decided to house only abstract art. Luna supposes it's his way of holding onto his late wife, honoring the style Jade had devoted her life to.

Really, she doesn't mind abstract. She'd grown up being taught to see beauty in the strange, to decipher meaning and see what those without an artistic eye could not see. But secretly, she wishes her father would go back to the old diversity. Fewer artists can sell their work and achieve recognition. Fewer people want to come to the gallery.

"It's nice," she says vaguely, giving a slight shurg of her shoulders.

**.**

"I just wish things would go back to normal," Luna admits, pushing a hand through her mess of blonde hair. "I like abstract art, but there's more out there. He taught me that, and now it's like I'm having to unlearn what I know."

Dean sighs, pulling away from the canvas. "Vent after I'm done," he says. "You're supposed to be posing, remember?"

Luna doesn't seem to hear him. She slumps in her chair, leaning her head back and sighing. "I mean, look at you. You're a tremendous artist, but Daddy would never buy your work because it's too normal."

"Your father would never buy my work because I'm not a professional," Dean corrects. "Now, hold still. I can't get your chin right, and moving around does not help."

At that, Luna sits up suddenly, wide eyes lightening, a smile creeping across her face. She leans forward in her chair, studying Dean for a moment.

Dean with his canvas and brushes. Dean who could draw people when an eight year old Luna was still drawing wonky stick figures. Dean who deserves a chance.

"You've got that look," he says, setting his brush down and folding his arms over his chest. "I don't like it."

"What look?"

"That look you get when you're about to say something outrageously impossible. Go on. Out with it."

"Let's get your art in the gallery."

**.**

"You're going out?" her father asks as Luna is already halfway out the door.

"Yes."

Xeno frowns, adjusting his tie. "But the exhibition is tonight," he says. "You have to be there."

Luna smiles, leaning up on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek. "Don't worry, Daddy. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

**.**

"You are absolute rubbish at the whole holding still thing," Dean says, pulling the paint brush away and scowling down at Luna.

Smiling sheepishly, Luna shrugs. "It's like ice."

"It's not that cold," Dean insists, dipping the bristles in the blue paint before drawing a fresh line over Luna's bare stomach. "And it beats having molten paint on your skin. Trust me. My sister put my paints in the microwave one time. Nightmare, that."

Luna giggles at the thought and decides that cold paint is definitely more preferable to hot.

**.**

Dean keeps the sheet around her as he guides her to the mirror. "Careful. It hasn't set completely yet."

Luna nods, taking special care with each movement. The last thing she needs is to ruin his hard work. "All right. Let me see."

"Oi! Don't rush perfection."

"I'm not perfect."

"Yes you are."

Before Luna can argue further, Dean lets the sheet drop to the floor, and Luna's full attention falls upon her reflection.

She forgets how uncomfortable and exposed the swimming cozzie makes her feel because now she is a walking piece of art. Her legs are earthy white and tan with bits of green shrubbery mixed in. On her stomach are the familiar blues and greens of the sea, nestled beneath a calm, clear sky. "That's-"

"Shell Cottage," he confirms.

"Why there?"

Dean moves closer behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Because, that's where I realized I was in love with you."

**.**

The gallery falls silent as Luna walks in, a painted wonder with a broadly smiling young man at her side. All hushed conversation stops, and all eyes are on her.

"Not the reaction I was hoping for," Luna admits under her breath.

"Let the shock wear off," Dean whispers back, linking his arm through hers.

Her father rushes forward, nearly knocking a few guests to the ground. "While I'm all for artistic expression, Luna, dear," he says, "are you sure that this is really the place? I-"

"Xeno! I should have known you'd do something like this," a man says, walking up and patting Xeno on the back. "Brilliant. Showcasing art on your own daughter! That's the old Xeno I know! Knew he was still in there somewhere."

"I- It wasn't-"

"Who'sthe artist?"

"Dean Thomas," Luna says, leaning against said artist with a smile. "My boyfriend."

The man pulls Dean away, leading him through the crowd. "I'll tell you, Mr Thomas, it's so refreshing to see such boldness in a young artist. I'll pay you-"

"Is there something you want to tell me?" Xeno asks, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking half frazzled, half relieved.

"I think you should be more flexible with art again," Luna answers quietly. She's held the words in her heart for so long, and now they seem so feeble, so petty. "It isn't going to bring Mum back."

"That boy. He's something special, isn't he?"

"Very."

**.**

"The gallery?" Luna laughs. "You chose the gallery for our first date?"

Dean shakes his head, leading her down the hallway. "No, no. Coffee and the park," he says. "But I wanted to show you something first."

He releases her hand, covering her eyes as he guides her through a doorway. "No peeking."

"I can't peek if you have your hands over my eyes," she mutters, lips twitching into a smile.

"A little more. A little more. Stop!"

Luna does, and the hands fall away. She finds herself face to face with a second painted Luna, smiling down at her from the canvas. "Is that yours?"

"Guilty as charged."

"In the Lovegood Gallery?"

"Yes."

With squeal of delight, she turns, throwing her arms around him. "You did it!"

"No," he says, kissing her forehead. "You did it."


End file.
